The Order
by SheenWinning
Summary: On the start of his ultimate quest, the Dragonborn knows he must face down the return of the Dragons, but he is just a man. In the adventure, an Alliance of Heroes is rallied to help aide the Dragonborn to defeat Alduin, forming the newest Knightly Order of Tamriel. This is the first of many hardships they will endure. M for sex, language, and violence. Imperial-Nordic Dragonborn.
1. ORIGIN

A misty night had fallen in the wake of ruins; what was left of this town sector had been held together by the hearts of the weak, and those that could remain. Stones that lay as the walls of constructs were askew, and ash ridden. The fountains of visionary leisure were tainted; the shapes the water poured out of were disfigured, causing not a gentle flow but a rapid leak. The nature that decorated the town was once a peaceful image that nourished the mentality of those that bared witness; now they were burnt as though the grasp of Oblivion had caught hold and let go, and had many years to become handsome again. Once mighty and strong structures, the walls that protected the subjects residing inside had abrasions all along it where smoke had once risen in a terrifying image of the clashing of swords and shields and the roaring of fireballs jumping through the blotted sky.

A terrible plague had cursed this land not so long in the past; a terrible plague of which had left such a path of misery and destruction; a terrible plague that couldn't be resisted. A terrible plague in which its end meant no stop and its legacy continued until the souls could build back up what this city once was.

That plague was war.

A great war had happened not so long ago, and the homeland had lost. Those living under it never asked for it, and they had nothing else to look to.

But in this night, all was calm. One who had once fought could lie under the stars on the street and rest forever. A night seemed to calm, and the presence of the Daedric Princes, Nocturnal and Azura, never could be more welcoming, especially in a time where the light could show over a bitter reminder of where all lived.

Flops of bare feet sounded in the night, and a blur went past view. A woman with a hood over her head, covering her long black hair, had run by with her arms together as she held something. Her breathing was frantic, whimpers would escape her lips in desperation as her eyes were wide in panic and tears would fall out of them. Cradled in her arms was a wrap of blankets, tucked around the form of a small infant. Despite her running, the child remained asleep through the shakes. What you could see on her torso was red; blood had stained her dress to parts of her arm, it getting over the wrap of blankets that comforted the child.

The frightened woman had opened her tearful eyes and looked up to see a stone building, one that luckily held itself together. She slowed herself to a walk, spinning around as if to search her surroundings, and then she faced back to the front porch of the building and quickly made her way up the steps. She stopped; lowering herself to her knees, her hold on the baby had softened looking down at it with puffy lips and glossy eyes. The baby seemed to have sensed it and it opened its eyes, big whites with blue irises had shined at the woman and its mouth opened, giving her a small laugh as its arms flailed. The woman smiled down at it, but with a sad look about her eyes. With her thumb, she gently stroked its soft cheek, more tears coming in. She rocked it.

"I'm so sorry, my love," she said to it, unable to hold back chokes of her own crying. "May you live the rest of your life…" she sobbed, putting the baby down on the hardwood floor, the blankets providing a cushion. "Goodbye, I'll love you forever." The tears from her eyes fell onto its wrapping, as she touched the infant one last time before lifting herself up and backing away. She couldn't take her eyes off of it until she reached a certain distance from the porch and then she turned and ran off into the mist.

Now the baby was left, the blood on it, yet no harm had come to it. It struggled to reach out for something, for the comfort of the woman, but she was no longer there. It was no longer safe in her arms, and it had reached a cold outside world of nothing to cuddle under. It began to cry, echoing loud enough for those behind the double doors to hear. Suddenly, one of the doors on the porch had swung open, a lantern being lit to reveal the face of an old man, his stomach protruding belly fat, and his clothing fit for sleeping.

He squinted, looking around out at the mist and then down at where the crying was coming from. He tried to open his eyes wider, blinking and rubbing them both in a circular motion. He leaned his head in to see it flailing around and its face tightened.

"By the nine…" he whispered. "Altea!" He called, and then set down the lantern to pick up the child in his arms, noting the blood over the sheets. "What happened to you?..." In moments, another woman about his age had stepped out in her sleepwear.

"What is it, Malcon?!" She said loudly, seeming a bit annoyed. She stopped in her tracks, eyes growing wide as her ears twitched to the sound. She looked over Malcon's shoulder, taking sight of the crying baby, and she put a hand over her mouth.

"Oh my goodness…" She muttered, and then put a hand on his shoulder. "Malcon the baby has blood on him…"

"Yes, I know the baby has blood on him, Altea!" He snapped, annoyed. He put his focus back down on the baby, rocking it and trying to soothe it. "Hey, hey, shhh…" he said. "He doesn't seem to be harmed; maybe the blood is someone else's."

"Matron Altea, Patron Malcon? What's going on?" A young child in his sleepwear had said, groggily, rubbing his tired eye. With him, a stuffed bear was hanging by his loose hold and being dragged slightly. Several other children of nearly the same age had followed behind them, all of different races. Altea lowered herself to their level and directed them back.

"Go back to sleep, children, there's nothing for you to worry about," she said. The young children went back inside momentarily, and Altea looked back to Malcon. "What will we do with him?" The man had stopped and pondered for the second.

"He must've been left here for a reason…" he uttered.

"Should we turn him in to the guard?" Malcon turned to her.

"No," he replied. "He must've been left here for a reason; so we'll do our job." He then went inside past her, and she followed. "We'll have to take care of him until someone claims him for adoption. I'll notify the guards tomorrow morning of what happened; but for now, we need to get him cleaned."

Altea looked back out at the night mist, wondering who had left him there.

"Is there any indication of a name?" She asked. Malcon stopped.

"No," he answered simply.

"Then what should we call him in the meantime?" Malcon looked down at the baby, seeing that it had become calm, and it looked back up at him with its blue eyes and smiled, laughing just like before. He smiled, and took note of his features. White like skin, like an Imperial or a Nord, and black hair had seemingly grown on top of his head. Malcon came to a conclusion.

"We'll call him Arminius."


	2. Introduction

**I'm redoing my AU into this story, and I hope you enjoy. If you guys want some clarity on the characters, here is the list. **

**Arminius Constantine****  
Race: **Colovian Imperial-Nordic mix**  
Face-Model: **Clive Owen (look him up as King Arthur; you'll get a good idea of what Arminius looks like.)  
**Voice Actor: **Nolan North (regular voice)

**Hadvar  
****Race: **Nordic  
**Voice Actor: **Jonas Fisch (in his Hadvar voice)

**Jenassa  
****Race: **Dunmer  
**Voice Actor: **Claudia Black

**Mjoll the Lioness  
****Race: **Nordic  
**Voice Actor: **Martina Lotun (in her Nord accent)

**Erik the Slayer  
****Race: **Nordic  
**Voice Actor:** Jason Marsden

**Marcurio Desideratus  
****Race: **Imperial  
**Voice Actor: **Jon Curry

**General Servius Tullius  
****Race: **Imperial  
**Voice Actor: **Michael Hogan

**Legate Rikke  
****Race: **Nordic  
**Voice Actor: **Claudia Christian

**Balgruuf the Greater  
****Race: **Nordic  
**Voice Actor: **Michael Gough

**Irileth  
****Race: **Dunmer  
**Voice Actor: **Lani Minella

**Hopefully now you can all get an idea of what I'm aiming for. So let's get this started; don't forget to review the story, I demand it.**

* * *

_Elder Scrolls: The Order_

_Nearly 5 months after the downfall of Ulfric Stormcloak's attempt at the throne, Skyrim still knew little peace. The dragon threat was still very much alive; but a hero lingered. _

_He was once a Legionary, but he set out on his quest to High Hrothgar to learn the way of the voice, for the Greybeards had summoned him._

* * *

_High Hrothgar_

A man had rested on his knees in the ancient stone quarters; the wind of the frosty air howling through the small cracks. His head was tilted down, hands resting on his thighs, a black beard that he let grow out now defined his face, neck length hair on his head. He was covered in brown robes, replacing the Legionary armor that he once had.

Throughout his days, he trained; meditated on the meaning of the voice, gaining enlightenment from his teachers, drank the purified water, practiced his thu'um. Other than what the Greybeards gave him, he practiced for his own good, doing drills with his sword, swinging with grace at absolutely nothing. His skills sharpened; he knew he would need it.

As he currently meditated, he thought on the words that Arngeir had told him.

_Go and retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. _

After what seemed like forever, the Greybeards were finally going to send him back down to the world to find an artifact in a place known as Ustengrav, another Nordic burial ground. He's been in one before…he knows what to expect.

* * *

The young man had on a set of fur armor, covering himself from the blast of the snowy wind. Over that was a fur coat, one that was made of wolf skin and went down his back like a cape, a hood behind his neck. He just finished saddling up his horse, adjusting the sword sheathe and climbing onto the saddle. He maintained control of the animal, turning it so he could look back at Arngeir, one of the Greybeards who stood waiting for him to be off. They made eye contact; the old man slowly nodding his head; then the young man with the black beard pulled the hood up over his head and directed his horse, trotting away down the mountain side.

* * *

Rorikstead, the old town that rested at the foot of the mountain had been left in rubble thanks to the Civil War that was waged here a year ago; the town now completely abandoned.

The forests of Falkreath, barely even touched by the war, was the young man's favorite province due to its beautiful landscape. Whiterun had its green plains, but it has been stained, especially by the Battle of Whiterun that happened in the mid of last year. Then there was Hjaalmarch; a rather bland piece of land below Skyrim's capital, defined by its swamp marshes.

In the land of Hjaalmarch was the hidden burial tomb of Ustengrav. On the way in, Arminius had faced several dangers. The Bandits that took shelter there were one, and the Necromancers that were fighting them there were another; the traps and the undead creatures known as the Draugr.

Twisting, winding, bent turns through dusty old rooms where sand and dirt would fall from the ceiling, indicating the danger of it collapsing any moment. But the young man had seen it all once before; he fought some bad things, even a Dragon once, and he was determined to see this mission through.

He had his sword sheathed, shield resting on a hilt on his back; he pulled down on a chain and at the same time like magic, the gate lifted itself open. He walked in, eyes squinted and taking a load in the sight. He was on an elevated level, a set of stairs that led down to a pathway between some ponds. The ponds licked at the air, leaving its sound of aqua and distortion. At the other side of the pathway was an altar of some kind, with a chalice like structure being elevated by sculpted hands. There's no doubt that that's where the horn would be.

He stepped down the steps, one foot at a time. Suddenly, the ground began to shake as though there was an earthquake, the young man jumped his hand to grasp the handle of his sword, From the water emerged four colossal stone structures, and as they stopped, the young man got a better look at them. They were shaped to be like…eagles or hawks…but the real question was, what point did they serve? Did they just randomly appear out of the water?

The young man thought on it for a moment, and then decided to continue his way cautiously down the steps, his hand still tightly grasping the sheathed sword. As he made his way across, he noticed on the other sides of the room were black coffins; he would be more cautious, but to what he saw, the Draugr that occupied them were already slain.

He put his attention back on the place where the horn is supposed to be; the alter being surrounded by riches and cremated ashes. Amongst that, his eyes widened; and he couldn't believe it.

It wasn't there…

Dammit…it wasn't there…

But there was something…a note. The young man instead reached for the note where the horn is supposed to be, and opened it up.

_Dragonborn_

_I need to speak to you, urgently. _

_Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn, in Riverwood. I'll meet you. _

_~A Friend_

It seems as though whoever it was went through a lot of trouble just to pass on a note. I mean, the person who did this obviously left all the Draugr and Bandits and Necromancers, and spiders behind for him to handle. Some "friend".

His mind, however, was set and curious. This person probably had the horn; and he needed that horn.

_I guess it's back to Riverwood then._

* * *

**Remember to review. **


	3. Chapter 1: Sleeping Giant Inn

The door opened, letting in the sunset light. The inside was lit up by the large mass of burning firewood in the center, and at the end of the large hall was a counter. The young bearded man stepped in; dusting off his armored shoulders and took a look around. It's been a while since he's been there; the last time was when he spent several weeks there during the war, to help try and get their defenses up against the Dragon that attacked his convoy in Helgen.

There was a woman there, he remembered her; she looked to be in her fifties, and she was the innkeeper. He approached her from behind and asked the question.

"Excuse me," he made himself known. The middle aged woman straightened her back and turned to him. "I'd like to rent the attic room." He could see her raise her eyebrow in question.

"Attic room? We don't have an attic room," she said. "But if you're still looking for rest, then you can have that room over there on the left." She pointed out the open door at the other end. The young man looked in that direction and pondered.

_So there is no attic room, huh? What kind of joke was this 'friend' playing? _

He agreed though; after days of horse riding, he was in need of a rest; he barely got any sleep now that he was back down to Nirn and traveling again; like he did in the Legion. He gave her 10 septims, no problem; all he wanted was to just lie down and sleep.

He went to his room, taking note of the surrounding. Fur bedding, drawer, end table, chair...

He stripped off his cape like bear and wolf fur, boots and steel chest plating and shoulders. He put on something more comfortable from his bag, a set of casual clothes that he would usually wear when not on duty or not traveling.

He sat himself on the wooden chair; the hard solid not very comfortable on his back but at that point it was better than not sitting down at all, and he found it relaxing regardless. He slouched, laying his head back and closing his eyes. His head tipped restlessly sideways, neck bending at the edge, he opened his eyes slightly to see a goblet on the side table.

He thought about that goblet, and what it was for. It was for drinking…drinking Ale and Mead or other good things that could quench his thirst, or quench his want for more Mead. He immediately pushed himself up and reached into his sack, pulling out a glass bottle of Nord Mead that he kept around with him.

It was like an addiction, only it wasn't; more like a hobby of his to drink alcoholic beverages, because he rarely ever lets himself get drunk. But it was the only thing he drank besides water: mead of all kinds. Honningbrew, Nord, Black-Briar…sometimes he would have fancier stuff, like what they created in his homeland, but he never cared much for it.

One of the better things that he cherished besides a drink was a drink with someone he knew. With his time in Skyrim, he hasn't made very many friends surprisingly, despite the fact that almost everyone in the Fourth Legion knew him, but he was never really close to anyone besides them praising him. He only kept a few close friends, most of them were in really high places. The commander of the Fourth Legion, Servius Tullius was one of them, they had grown a mutual respect for each other the more they fought during the war. Legate Rikke was another, despite being the one who would boss him and his Cohort around most of the time; but he respected her highly, just as she grew fond of him near the end of it all.

As he took the goblet, he poured the Nord mead in it and continued to think of the friends he has made.

There was the Jarl of Whiterun, Balgruuf the Greater. After his aid in defending the city from both a Dragon and the Stormcloaks, the Jarl also grew a great respect for him; and speaking of Jarls, he wonders when the next moot would come around. He knows Legate Rikke was assigned to a political position to instill new Jarls and maintain order in the restored Eastern Holds, but that would take quite a while, and when it's finished, order still needs to be maintained by the new Jarls until they could possibly continue their cooperation with the other holds.

The young man put the edge of the goblet up to his lips, letting the honey liquid seep in and down his throat. Going on about the friends…

There was Hadvar, the one he escaped with when he was overseeing an execution in Helgen when a Dragon attacked. He was wondering where that wise fool was…surely he'd be back in Riverwood now that the civil war was over. Hadvar's uncle, Alvor, the one that helped house him for the weeks that he spent in Riverwood when he was helping them out.

He gulped down a large portion of the drink, letting it warmly settle into his belly.

And then there was…mmh…Camilla Valerius, oh what a beautiful, sweet dame. After retrieving a Golden Claw of her and her brother, Lucan's, he and she had a…'thing.' Her brother didn't really know about it, and neither did the two men who were courting her at the time. From the pleasure that memory could allow him to remember, he is reminded of the time they went out into the woods next to the river; they found a cut off bark of a tree, got naked, and he bent her over the wood and…well, it's a pleasuring thought.

Unfortunately, they had to cut things between them short by the time he was recalled back into war, and he hadn't seen her since. He tried to visit her when he came back just a short while ago, but the Riverwood trader had a sign that said it was closed down in the meantime, and that they were out of the village; such a shame.

The bottom of the goblet was rested on the arm rest, the young man sliding back down to slouch, returning his head back and closing his eyes.

Another friend of his, one that he made a bond with solely through combat was one mercenary leader. She was a Dark Elf; Jenassa was her name. She was the deadliest and most accurate archer that he has ever laid eyes on, someone that he eventually got to know. He met her before the battle of Whiterun; how they made introductions and how his Cohort and her Mercenary unit cooperated in the defense of the gate. Her style of fighting fit an assassin, using her bow and arrows in creative ways and using something that is closely resembled to martial arts. She alone probably killed more enemies than his entire cohort did. He remembers seeing her get into a one on one un-interrupted duel wielding sword fight with the White Wolf.

Who was this White Wolf? She was one of the deadliest and most ruthless Stormcloak rebels from the entirety of the war, and one of their top commanders. She got the name through her snowy white hair, and the striking war paint that she had around her eyes that closely resembled a wolf, one that would bring fear into an enemy's heart. She was probably responsible for two of the three major Imperial defeats of the war, Blizzard Rest, and Valtheim.

But to see Jenassa defeat her only proves just how incredible the Dunmer woman was. He then led a beach assault with her at Cold Harbor, then took Windhelm with her; and along the way grew a battle bond.

All these thoughts brought a pleasant rush of happiness to him, and a smile formed on his near sleepy face.

Suddenly, his ears picked up the sound of the door quickly opening and shutting, and his body had a spasm in surprise, nearly spilling his drink. His eyes wide, he stared at the person who came in: the middle aged Breton woman he talked to earlier about the attic room that apparently wasn't there. The first thoughts came to his mind, and he had to speak them out.

"What!?" He let out. "What's going on?" The middle aged Breton woman shushed him.

"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about?" She said. The young man raised an eyebrow, like she did before. How did she know that he was the Dragonborn? Unless…unless SHE was the one who left the note. Now what about the horn? As if she read his thoughts, she pulled out an old looking curvy horn from her back side. "I think you're looking for this," she then tossed it to him. He sprang, quickly setting aside his drink and cushioning the artifact to fall into his lap.

_She…she just…threw a priceless artifact…_

He looked up at her in horror at how careless she was of the value of this thing. Does she know how fragile that thing is? He wanted to say something to her, to scold her; but now he was too confused and all he could force out were stutters.

"I know you have a lot of questions, but first, please follow me," she turned out the door almost immediately. The young man just sat there for a moment watching her go out until realizing that he needed to follow her. Quickly he tucked the horn in a safe place in his bag, and grabbed the glass bottle of mead and quickly fast walked out after her.

"Hey wait!" He called, coming up beside her, leaning to get a look at her face. "Who are you?"

"This way," she said, walking through a door. The young man had missed the door frame from walking beside her and his head ran into the wall.

"Ow!" He rested a hand on the spot he hit, rubbing it. He then adjusted his position and moved through the door. On the other side, the middle aged Breton woman stood in front of a closet and then turned to him.

"Close the door behind you," she ordered. Hesitantly, he pulled his hand off of his hand and used it to pull the door closed. He turned back to see now that she had opened the closet doors, and…was moving into it. He could see her form beginning to descend until she was out of sight. The young man quickly walked to the frame to see that behind it was a flight of stairs that led down to some kind of…secret room.

Cautiously, he walked down, and upon entering the ground level, he looked around him. There was a weapon rack, chests, potions, enchanting table, alchemy table, and in the middle was a plain wooden table with a map on it, dozens of red marks over it. This was like…a WAR room.

Nervously, he took a sip of the mead in his hand, as the middle aged Breton leaned herself against the table just over the map.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn," she said. "I hope they're right." The young man approached the table, setting down the mead.

"YOU'RE the one who took the horn?" He asked, kind of surprised.

"Surprised?" Almost as if she read his mind again. "I guess I'm getting pretty good at my harmless innkeeper act."

"What's with all the cloak and dagger?" He asked.

"I can't afford to lower my guard," she replied. "I had to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap." Thalmor? What did they have to do with this? "I'm not your enemy; I already gave you the horn. I'm actually trying to help you, I just need you to hear me out." Her tone sounded very serious, almost as if she was desperate for his attention.

"Well…" He said, picking up the mead again and taking another swig. "You have my attention."

"I had to know if the rumors about you were true," she said. He had to hold back a scoff; why were they rumors? It was basically a well-known fact, especially throughout the fourth Legion and his friends. "I'm part of a group that's been looking for you…well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you anymore, I need to make sure that I can trust you."

"What makes you think that I can trust YOU?" the young man turned the question on her. "We haven't even told each other our names yet!"

"Well if you don't trust me, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place," she said; and the young man agreed, she made a good point.

"Okay…" He said, his mind coming up with more questions. "Why did you take the horn?"

"I knew the Greybeards would send you there if they thought you were Dragonborn," she said. "They're nothing, if not predictable." With the way she said it, it seemed as if she had some distaste for the Greybeards. "When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Greybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant."

"Wait," he said. "You said Thalmor twice…what do they have to do with this?" The middle aged woman lowered her head for a moment.

"We've VERY old enemies," she said. "And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the Dragons returning. But that isn't important right now; what is important is that you must be the Dragonborn."

"Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?"

"We remember what most don't – that the Dragonborn is the ultimate Dragonslayer. You're the only one that can kill a Dragon permanently: by devouring its soul."

"Devouring its soul?" The man questioned, remembering the battle at the Watchtower. In a near whisper, he said to himself, "so THAT'S what I did…"

"You've done it haven't you? Killed a Dragon and devoured its soul." The man shrugged his shoulders.

"If you say so…"

"Well at least you'll have a chance to prove it to me soon enough." The young man had took another drink of his mead, and set it down, leaning over the table, his arms holding him up for support.

"So what's the part you aren't telling me?" He asked.

"The Dragons aren't just coming back," she replied. "They're coming back to LIFE. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years; they were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life, and I need you to help me stop it." The young man chuckled.

"Do you know how crazy this sounds?" He said through chuckles, even though, for some reason, he believed every word of what she was saying. She chuckled as well.

"A few years ago, I said the same thing to a colleague of mine," she said. "Well, it turned out he was right and I was wrong." The young man sighed.

"So what makes you think the Dragons are coming back to life?" He was surely a man with a lot of questions.

"I KNOW they are," she replied. "I've visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty; and I've figured out where the next one will be; and we're going to go there, and you're going to kill that Dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know." The task and what it required…took him completely by surprise, and immediately he spoke out against it.

"Woah," he let out. "Are you saying we're going to just go and KILL a DRAGON? Just like that?" The Breton only glared at him.

"Well, YOU were able to do it before…"

"Well yeah, of course," he said. "Because at that time, I was leading seven legionaries with a joint force of eight Whiterun guards and we nearly got WIPED OUT!" She remained silent, continuing to glare at him. "Look, lady – whatever your name is – I'm flattered that you can put so much trust into my abilities as the Dragonborn, but I'm still just a man! I mean, I've had my fair share of killing and sword fights, but I'm still new to this Dragon stuff…" The middle aged woman crossed her arms.

"Then you're going to have to get used to it, especially now."

"So what?" He said. "Just the TWO of us are supposed to just waltz right in there, stab the asshole a couple of times and expect it to die?"

"Well, do you have a BETTER plan?" She questioned him, obviously annoyed. The young man went silent, pondering one of his usual thought. He grabbed the mead and took a sip of it, his thoughts beginning to clear up, and an idea came to his head, one that comes from tactful thinking.

"Actually, yes, I do," He said. The woman backed herself against the wall and leaned herself on it.

"Let's hear it then." The words immediately came through his mouth.

"If this is a dragon we're dealing with, then we need more people," he explained. "Some really good people, people I can trust…I tell you what, you tell me where that Dragon burial site is, you can do some recon, and I can bring the extra muscle; and when we're ready, we can strike; but it needs to be quick and brutal."

"And what makes you think 'extra muscle' is going to work? You've said it yourself: you led fifteen people to fight a dragon and you nearly got wiped out."

"But lady, I know these people; they can FIGHT! One of them is my best friend whom I fought with in the war, and the other is this amazing archer! Believe me, as long as they can follow our lead, and maintain the element of surprise, we may actually have a chance against this Dragon," he explained, his Legate's strategic mind being put to example.

After moments of thinking about it; the middle aged woman shrugged.

"Oh why not? I suppose we can take whatever help we can get," she said. "Like you said, I'll go ahead and do some reconnaissance; just get whoever you need, make sure they're ready, and get to Kynesgrove; and don't take too long."


	4. Chapter 2: A Gathering of Friends

The young man knocked on the door, then retracted his hands and placed them on his sides. Through his beard, he puckered his lips and whistled a tune, his eyes upon the ceiling. A moment later, the door opened, revealing a familiar blonde haired Nord with a beard similar to his and a blacksmith's apron clothed on him.

"Hello?" The man greeted, seeming a little confused at the stranger. The thing is, he wasn't a stranger.

"Alvor!" The young man lifted his hands in the air in happiness, but the blacksmith was still confused; the young man taking note of it. "Alvor, it's me!" The blacksmith squinted at him, and then his eyes widened in realization.

"Arminius?" He said, shocked; then a smile made way through his beard. "Well, what a damn surprise to see you here! You look so different, barely even recognizable." They shook hands, laughing heartily in happiness.

"It's good to see you," the Dragonborn said. Alvor stepped out of the way, raising his hand to invite him in.

"Well, come in, come in!" Alvor said. "I'll have Sigrid fix us something to eat."

"Ah, thank you," The Dragonborn said, nodding and stepping inside, taking a good look around. Not much has changed; just the same two room house with a combined bedroom and kitchen. In the corner was a staircase that led to the basement, and a head popped out of it.

"Arminius?" The head said; the Dragonborn smiling again in realization who it was. Like with Alvor, he raised his arms.

"Hadvar!" he said. The wise fool Nord came up the steps and approached him. "It's so good to see you!"

"Likewise, old friend," Hadvar said, engaging the Dragonborn in a shake, grabbing at each other's' wrists. Moments later, the woman that Alvor had married, Sigrid, came up the stairs as well, along with their daughter, Dorthe.

"Arminius!" The little girl called out in happy surprise, and ran over to him. She threw herself onto his leg and hugged it tightly.

"Woah, easy there little wolf," he patted her on the head, and she looked up at him.

"Did you see any more Dragons!? Huh?" She asked excitedly.

"Uhh…fortunately, no," he laughed. Sigrid approached them, looking discontent with Dorthe.

"Dorthe, let him have his space," like that, Dorthe let go of his leg. "It's been a while, Arminius."

"It sure has been," The Dragonborn nodded. "You know, I'd love to stay for dinner, or chat and all, but if it's okay, I would like to speak to Hadvar outside." Hadvar looked at him questioningly. Alvor and Sigrid both nodded.

When Hadvar and the Dragonborn stepped out onto the porch, the Dragonborn bent himself over the railing, using his elbows for support.

"You know, I didn't think you were one to sport a long thick beard," Hadvar said. The Dragonborn scoffed.

"I forgot to pack shaving supplies before I went to High Hrothgar," he said. "And you know…the Greybeards don't really shave; that's why they're called the Greybeards. So how is everything down here in the real world? What's happened since the war ended?" Hadvar got down on the railing with him.

"Well, some of the Legionaries were given extended leave, like you and me," he said. "Most of the others are still working off their points, acting on guard duty in the forts or the regained holds. Legate Rikke has been working hard to maintain order."

"Has she chosen any new Jarls yet?"

"Only one," Hadvar replied. "In Dawnstar, Brina Merilis, and that's because she is a retired Legionary. All the other holds are still under Militaristic occupation; Winterhold, Windhelm, and Riften, and are being governed by appointed Legatus and Martial Law."

"Is the Fifth Legion still occupying the Rift?"

"From what I know, yes," Hadvar said. "The Black-Briar family tried to negotiate with them for control, but General Scipio isn't having it; he said something about 'not trusting anyone who lived in a seceded hold.'"

"So Scipio is governing Riften?"

"At least until Rikke can instill a new Jarl," Hadvar said. "But I think that's going to be a problem with Scipio."

The Dragonborn left his bag outside; he walked over and reached in, pulling out the Mead he had from earlier. He continued to drink it, the two pausing in silence for a moment.

"So how've you been?" The Dragonborn asked. Hadvar exhaled out his nose.

"Honestly? I could be better," Hadvar replied. "I know I should be enjoying myself now; I just fought in a huge war and now I'm home, resting. But these damn Dragons have come back, and it's hard for me to rest." The Dragonborn nodded, agreeing definitely.

"Hadvar, this is a little strange to say," he said, turning to face him fully. "But I'm going to need your help." Hadvar looked at him questioningly, straightening himself out.

"My help? For what?"

"I met with someone just a little while ago," the Dragonborn began to explain. "She said she knows how we can stop the Dragons; but I need to do something crazy and kill a Dragon with her at Kynesgrove."

"And you need MY help with that?"

"Hadvar, I've seen you barrel through seven Stormcloaks once," you have some strength in you, and we could really use your help." Hadvar went silent for a moment, crossing his arms.

"I don't know, Arminius…"

"It's not going to just be us, Hadvar," The Dragonborn said. "You do remember Jenassa, right?" Hadvar raised his head.

"You mean the Dark Elf mercenary that we held the gate with? Is she coming along as well?"

"Well we'll find out when we go to Whiterun," The Dragonborn said. Hadvar went silent again, looking at the door to his house.

"I still don't know…" Hadvar said. "What about my uncle, aunt, and cousin? What if I die and I won't come back to them…"

"Hadvar," The Dragonborn interrupted, laying a hand on his shoulder. "If I didn't trust in your abilities to keep yourself alive, then I wouldn't've come to you for help." Hadvar stopped and stared at the ground, then looked back up to him.

"You really think this will work?" The Dragonborn half smiled.

"I'm sure it will work better than the original plan, heh," he said. Hadvar nodded.

"Well…okay Arminius," he said. "I'm with you."

* * *

A travel to Whiterun starting from Riverwood in the morning on foot would last to sundown, and that's exactly what they did. They entered through the gates, their packs on them and them looking for a specific place. There it was, the Drunken Huntsman, standing upon a flight of stairs. Hadvar and the Dragonborn both looked at each other and nodded, beginning to make their way up the stairs. Upon entering, they could see a crowd of old grizzly looking men; most definitely all hunters. They were gathered around two specific people, one of them being a hunched old Nord, and the other was the familiar Dark Elf.

She had her arms crossed, her eyes glaring at the tough old man as he shouted at her.

"You damn elves give Skyrim nothing but trouble!" The old man said, clearly trying to be rude; but Jenassa was standing her ground. Hadvar and the Dragonborn stood on their toes to look over the crowd of people pestering the two.

"You know, I thought there wouldn't be very much of this now that we've won the war," Hadvar said. "Guess I was wrong."

"If the war was still going on, oh boy the things I would have done to ya…" the mean old man said. Jenassa opened her arms.

"Why hold back?" she stated. "I'm standing right here."

"Why you little…" he stomped at her, beginning to bring his fist back to throw a punch. A sly smile creeped on Jenassa's face as the fist flew forward. With cold calculation, she dodged and quickly countered him, bringing a swift kick to his face. Another move of hers and he was sent flipping forward onto his back. Another swift move of her foot, she stomped down on his leg, breaking it at the joint. He screamed out in pain, holding at his leg and rocking around on the floor.

"OOHHHH!" Everybody around them went, jumping around and mocking him like monkeys. Jenassa quickly retreated back to the corner spot where she usually presides and kicked her feet up onto the table, taking a mug full of ale into her hand and drinking it.

"Good to see those two hundred years on your life hasn't changed," The Dragonborn called to her above the shouting, approaching her table. "And to see that you're still as ruthless as ever." He laughed. Jenassa put the Ale down from her lips and a smile crept up on her face.

"Arminius…" she said. "You look different…must've been sometime." Hadvar came up beside the Dragonborn. "And Hadvar, you still look the same, just different armor." They both laughed.

"He forgot to shave this morning," Hadvar joked. It made Jenassa exhale out her nose and look at them before motioning to the two empty chairs.

"Come," she said. "Sit and have a drink with me; I know you like to have a drink." Hadvar and the Dragonborn sat down at the table, making themselves comfortable, and at the same time, the music from the Bard band began playing again. "I need two mugs of Mead on the double!" She called out.

"Ahh you know me so well," the Dragonborn said, obviously pleased about the free mead he was about to get. "So how've you been?"

"Well," Jenassa said, taking more sips of her ale. "After the war ended, my unit got its pay and was disbanded, and here I am working alone."

"So humiliating racist drunks in taverns is your idea of work?" Hadvar asked, just as a waitress came around a slid two mugs of mead to them, the Dragonborn wasting no time gulping it down.

"Well my idea of work is punishing those who deserve it," She looked over at the man who was still rolling on the ground crying, being laughed at by the other hunters. "And if you hadn't seen enough, he deserved it."

"Harsh," Hadvar said.

"And what about you, Arminius?" Jenassa asked. "Surely after five months on one of the highest mountain tops in Tamriel, coming back down means something important, especially when you come to me about it." The Dragonborn finished his mead and wiped his hairy lips.

"Hadvar, can you please explain to Jenassa here what we have planned?" He patted Hadvar on the shoulder and burped. Hadvar sighed.

"Well, we're going after a Dragon in Kynesgrove…"

"Hmm…" Jenassa said, holding the mug up to her lips. "The two of you going after a Dragon in Kynesgrove? I must say it's a very noble undertaking."

"And we need your help," The Dragonborn said.

"Ah, I sensed that one coming," Jenassa said, getting her feet down off of the table. "I remembered, just after the battle of Windhelm, that I told you to come to me anytime you need help in your quest of the Dragonborn."

"Wait…so, you," the Dragonborn let out, trying to think of words to say. "You actually want to help us?"

"Well of course," Jenassa said. "We can trust each other, can't we?"

"So just like that? No objections? You'll just help us?"

"No objections," The Dragonborn raised his arms.

"Oh great!" He said, gladly.

"Well that was easier than I expected," Hadvar said.

"Anything to get me away from this place, especially when it's with you," Jenassa said. The Dragonborn refilled his mug with mead and held it high in front of him. Jenassa and Hadvar did the same, and all raised their mugs for a toast.

"I think this is the start to a beautiful friendship..." he said. "Now, how bout it? Let's go fight a dragon." They clanked their mugs together and drank.


	5. Chapter 3: Sahloknir

**Okay guys, this chapter has over 5,000 words, the longest chapter I have done. So this shit better get reviews for the long ass time I took to make this. The reviews I got so far are very positive, and I hope I can keep that up. **

**So please read and review. **

* * *

The Emperor, white beard growing on his face, and a bald head, had retired to his quarters for the night. With the Penitus Oculatus guards on watch by either side of his door, he had no worry. He sighed, stretching his old weakly arms and walking towards his King sized bed. He looked down, moving himself to rest upon the edge, until a deep accented voice spoke out behind him.

"My Emperor," Titus would've been startled, but as soon as he heard the voice, he knew who it was and what he was there for. As soon as he turned, a figure in formal attire approached from the shadows. He had short black hair, stubble over his chin, and an eye patch over his left eye. Titus' expression grew grim at the sight of him.

"Scipio…" He muttered. "It's been a while."

"Indeed it has," Scipio replied, pulling up a glass of ale to his lips. He swallowed down. "I hope you don't mind," he said, motioning to his glass. The old Emperor shook his head. Scipio smirked and continued with his drink.

"It seems your strategy to defeat the rebels has worked," Titus said, sitting down at his bed like he was planning to, only he was stiff in Scipio's presence. Scipio set his glass on a side table and laced his fingers behind his back.

"Tullius would never do it," he said. "He should learn that all good things go to those who don't hold back." Scipio had a smooth stride in Titus' direction. "And now, thanks to my expertise, The Empire has a better chance of survival with all Imperial provinces back under our control"

"Though it was reckless…I'm not sure the High Queen would've much appreciated it," Titus said. Scipio scoffed.

"There is nothing to worry about, for Elisif is no High Queen," Scipio said. "Even if she was, her loyalty to her dead husband would drive her to any lengths to see vengeance done. She could be as ruthless as she is fair." Titus sat silently, thinking that Scipio would continue speaking but he just kept looking back at him.

"Well, we had a deal," the Emperor said. "You take care of the threat and I give you something in return. Now what is it? Gold? Women? Political position?" Scipio had his back turned to him, as he shook his head and laughed.

"Oh, my Emperor, nothing so predictable," he said. Titus raised an eyebrow.

"Then what is it that you ask of me?" Scipio turned around, his facial expression stone cold. He leaned in to the Emperor, hands still behind his back as he uttered one sentence.

"Your complete and unquestionable cooperation…"

* * *

A roar thundered across the sky, a giant winged beast was soaring in circles over a wooded hilltop of the snowy system. At the foot of the hill was the village of Kynesgrove, and its occupants were running frantic in fear for their lives. The Dragonborn, Jenassa, and Hadvar, upon hearing the frenzy, rushed on their mounts to the site. They all pulled their whinnying horses to a halt in front of a middle aged woman with her hands thrown up and her face expressing desperation.

"No!" She cried, "Save yourselves, a dragon is attacking!" The Dragonborn's horse stirred, shaking it's head and clanking its hooves till its rider was facing the woman sideways, the Imperial-Nordic man trying to keep it under control.

"Where is it now?" He demanded, and as if on cue, another dragon's roar rang out. The three looked up to where it came from, which was up the dirt path heavily shaded by the dense tree lines on each side. The beginning of the path had evidence of its further levels, and how it would turn constantly till the top.

"At the top of the hill," she pointed a bony finger up towards the sky, near the top of the hill, and then turned back to them. "Are you…here to help?"

"Yes," he answered, and then motioned in a direction away from the village. "Now get yourselves to safety!" With that the woman ran off, and the three dismounted their horses, running through the frenzy, bumping shoulders with people as they navigated their way through. They began to make their way up the shaded dirt path leading to the top of the hill. With boots stomping through the snow and dirt, the Dragonborn halted fast, lifting his hand up to his side in a balled fist, signaling the other two beside him to halt as well. They found themselves nearing the end of the path, a visibly open area with frenzying snow and dust from the flapping of lizard wings. On the left, the Dragonborn made out a boulder, one that was big enough for the three to hide behind; coincidentally, already there was the woman he convened with the other day in the secret room of the tavern. She was clad in a light combat armor, brown colored and strapped, possibly leather, and drawn out in her hand she carried a strange longsword with a thin blade shaped as an obtuse curve. He remembered seeing a blade like that before, he couldn't quite remember what it was called, but he knew it hailed from the land of Akavir.

Immediately, he motioned his arm forward toward the boulder like the legate that he was before, taking command of a cohort. He sprinted, the other two following and when he approached, he dropped himself against the rock, his body thudding and his sword clanking; the other two did the same. Seemingly, their sudden approach had startled the blonde Breton, and she turned, pointing her sword to them. When she noticed it was just him, she sighed and her shoulders loosened. She tilted her head to see the two allies he brought along with him.

"Is this all you brought?" She asked in a loud whisper.

"Uhh…yes," the Dragonborn replied.

"Well it's all or nothing now." They all waited and watched, peaking their heads above the boulder as they saw the large winged lizard beast of ancient times stop overhead a clearing, a structure in the middle of the field. It was like a mound, stone shaped like stairs encircled it. "That's the dragon tomb," the blonde Breton pointed out, "let's wait and see what happens."

The Dragon seemed to have stared down at the mound with its reptilian golden eyes, and then it began to speak in a deep husk, echoing throughout the woods as it flapped its wings in place.

"Sahloknir…" it said, to the Dragonborn, it sounded like a name it was uttering, as if it was calling out to it. It continued on, speaking in words that the four mortals couldn't understand, but the Dragonborn recognized what it was speaking.

"Dragon tongue…" he whispered. They each looked at him. "My Thu'um power is spoken in it."

"Do you know what its saying?" Jenassa asked, but the Dragonborn shook his head. Suddenly, a thunder strike exploded from the sky as the Dragon's voice became gruffer like it was reaching the climax of a supernatural ritual. The ground began to shake like a nirnquake.

"This is worse than I thought…" the blond Breton muttered. The dirt and nirn that was mended to the ground inside the radius of the mound had been severed, the particles flying in all directions in the air, and a set of bony skeleton wings had stretched from it like the risen dead. The wings had claws on the very end of them, and they latched onto the stone, pulling itself out and roaring into the sky as if it awakened from a long slumber. It's skeleton was being covered up by a fiery bright energy as it stepped further out from the mound, restoring it to its full terrifying form.

Its skin was as thick as armor, twisting features of razor like bones protruding out of it like a set of sharp teeth to gums. It was much like the one that awoke it, only it was colored a dirty grey, giving off the reflection to appear whiter, than the black dragon that reflected the clouded light to seem silverish. Each of its steps in the ground produced a large thud, leaving behind a print to catch the snow. It snaked its head upward, its white god eyes absent of pupils, looked toward the floating black dragon.

"Alduin, thuri!" It spoke in an equally deep and menacing voice that echoed as well, but varied enough to be unique to it only. "Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?" The Dragonborn patted the two girls on his sides and they all went back down with him, facing a certain point on the ground. While on their knees, he pulled out a hunting knife from a holster at the back of his waist. He began carving shapes into the wet soil.

"Okay," he breathed. He pointed to the large triangle in the middle of his image. "Here's the dragon…" then he shifted to four circles on the side, "here's us." He began to carve a line starting from their position on each side. "We can use the tree line to our advantage, moving through cover as we get on either sides of it. If we can strike from multiple blind points, then that thing should go down quicker than I hope." They then heard one of the dragon's give a deep laugh.

"You do not even know our tongue, do you?" The Dragonborn's eyes widened in realization of who it was speaking to. He and the other three stood, shooting their gazes up at the black dragon that looked down upon them with its red and golden eyes. "Such arrogance; to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah." It then looked to the other Dragon perched on the ground, its name presumably Sahloknir, and spoke to it in their language.

The Dragonborn had a terrible feeling about what was going to happen next, and as soon as the black dragon in the sky flapped its wings and soared off, he could hear the sound of something like an inhale. He knew that sound, when he last fought a dragon, back at the watchtower. He heard it numerous times when it burnt out his fellow soldiers. He could only do one thing.

"GET DOWN!" Immediately, in the knick of time, they all dropped and hugged themselves up against the rock as the sizzling and trickling of flames sounded, and the heat of sparks projected itself over the top and sides of the boulder. The dragon had shouted its word of power, creating a flamethrower from its open snout, pinning the four behind the boulder as the heat of the flames barely brushed past them, until its shout ran out for the moment and the heat died down to just what was scorched around them.

Now was their chance to pull off the Dragonborn's strategy.

"Execute, execute!" Jenassa and Hadvar sprang to the left, temporarily exposing themselves. The Dark Elf covered her and the Nord by quickly drawing an arrow from her quiver and expertly getting it off in a speedy fashion. The shot bulleted and stub the dragon near its eye, and it roared. This allowed a small frame of time for the Dragonborn and the other woman to spring out in the other direction.

If it could work, he would allow Jenassa to shoot at the thing all day till it dies. However, an arrow digging into the skin of a dragon would be nothing more than a scratch to it. It would lack the proper force to penetrate the skin through all of its layers and hit a vital organ, which is what they needed to accomplish. He thought of the plan quickly as he ran; a dragon's bones are much more sturdy than a mortals, and they are nearly impossible to even just fracture. If someone was to take a stab at the skull area, the blade would only slide in part way before the tip would be halted at the surface of the skull, essentially doing no damage. He knew that from observation from his last encounter; some of his fellow soldiers had tried to do that, and they faced little success. He knew of several soft spots that could be struck: the bottom of its neck, the throat area. It had very little bone structure, leaving an open place to stab all the way through; he knew that from experience. The eye sockets, the task force could surely benefit from blinding it. Its wings can be stabbed, since it's mostly skin, but one would have to put an inhuman amount of force into it if they were to try and slice open a larger wound. Powerful stabbing motions are the only way to make efficient use of inflicting damage, and sadly its barely enough.

The Dragonborn and the other woman ducked behind an arch of dirt in the ground, a fallen tree branch providing more over top cover. The Dragonborn quickly peered out, seeing another arrow stike the dragon, and it continued to roar as it turned frantically in the direction it came from. The Dragonborn couldn't make out his two friends, and he had hoped they found cover in time for the dragon to shout more fire from its mouth.

He beat himself up in realization of something, and he muttered to himself, "Probably should've brought a pilum or two…"

"What was that?" the woman said to him. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Nothing, now keep moving and try to get around it," he then pushed her lightly, making her jump into a sprint, moving further until she was out of sight of him. He looked back up over his cover and noticed that the dragon was faced completely away from him, its tail sticking out towards him, like it was beckoning him to come and stab it.

Now was his chance. He pulled his sword out, the blade shinging as it swiped across the edges of the sheath. It was a simple, military issue, Imperial short sword from his time in the war. It was near laughable, but it was better than his bare hands; the thought of killing a dragon with your bare hands is impossible, but it's more glory to the slayer if accomplished.

He inhaled nervously, laying his head back and pointing his face upwards towards the sky. In his head, he prayed to the Divines for a quick second, something that he rarely does. He then turned and brought himself to his feet, undoing the knot that held together his wolf cape around his shoulders. The skin slipped off into the dirt, and he charged forward, flipping his sword so he held it with the blade downward like a dagger, and he lifted it above his head, venting his energy through a yell, helping him focus his attack. The tail was spiky like, seeming less like a lizard creature and more like a Daedra; it appeared like a suit of armor itself. But with his might, he struck his sword down through its skin, penetrating all the way through and between a gap of tail bones.

It went in so deep to his exaggerated might that it became stuck in place, not budging despite his attempts to pull it out. The dragon roared once again in pain, arching its head up. The Dragonborn, grip still on the handle, was pulled forcefully, and then thrown with a rough hit to his chest, making him let go of the sword completely. The dragon's tail's might had sent him back a distance, he yelling as he flew. His back hit the ground, and he rolled uncontrollably across the dirt until he stopped on his chest. He slowly pushed himself up, coughing as he got to his knees.

"Shit…" he coughed more, and then looked around for the shield that he lost in the process. He found it lying face first to the ground just a few feet away from him. The Dragon had lifted off and began circling the battlefield, eyeing the Dragonborn especially, just as he picked back up his shield. He must've been an easy target now that he was out in the open with no weapon.

"Arminius!" He heard the accented voice of the Dark Elf call out in the distance. He turned and noticed a sword had been tossed into the air at him. He raised his free hand, palm open, and caught the sword by its handle. He pulled it back down to himself, flipping it around in his hand like the swordsman he is, getting a good feel of the new weapon he was given. It was an iron short sword, short just like his Imperial steel one, one of Jenassa's spares. It must've been his bad stroke of luck to lose a bad sword for this situation to gain an even worse one.

"I see that mortals have become arrogant!" The dragon called down to them.

"Arminius, watch out!" Jenassa called to him, as the dragon touched down directly in front of him, sending the ground shaking and him off balance. Once he regained his center, the Dragonborn immediately recognized the imminent danger in front of him, for him to be shouted to a crisp. It was a threat that a small shield like his wouldn't be able to block.

But he had his gods given power, granted to him at birth and discovered fairly recently. It ran through his non-human blood, the power wielded by the Dovah; the Thu'um. The legend of the Tongues tell the tale of the brave Nordic heroes who faced impossible odds during the Draugr wWar of the first era. They ascended to greatnes when they used the power of the Dovah's shouts against them. The Dragonborn knew it was the only way.

He took a hard step, planting his feet to the ground and stiffening his form. His muscles tense, he breathed in through his noise, his chest rising.

"Fus…" was a word that escaped with his breath, his tone seeming to rise up like a fire, and with a lastly exaggerated follow up word "ROH!" Like the power of Dovah, out of his mouth thundered a transparent blue aura of force, spreading as it sped forward. Everything in its path was kicked up and pushed back and so did the dragon, Sahloknir, whose head was knocked down to the unrelenting force. As soon as it tried to lift its head back up, the Dragonborn charged forward and plundered the iron short sword into its eye hole, blood of black squirting and oozing down its cheek. It roared, again arching its head up off the ground. This time however, the Dragonborn held on, being lifted off with its head, a firm grip on his sword and one of the scales on its head. He held on, viciously twisting his sword to mangle its eye organ ever so further, mushing it into a meat pile of blood and gush.

To his aid charged Hadvar from the other side, shield and sword raised as he as well struck his sword into the dragon, this time striking the soft spot of its neck with his Nord strength. The blonde Breton flung and jammed her long blade into the other side of the dragon's neck. With the length of the blade, it's no doubt she would've done the most damage.

They each held on to it, stabbing profusely, creating multiple breaches in its skin. The dragon now roared even louder, shaking its head side to side, trying to force away the three attackers. It chomped its snout desperately at them, shouting out fire but to no avail. It eventually flapped its wings and lifted itself off the ground, finally making them fall. It flew around in a circle, eyeing them in fury with the one eye it had left.

They all readied themselves as it began to swoop down at them. It opened its mouth, and the Dragonborn's eyes widened.

"DISPERSE!" He said, jumping to one side frantically. As a great ball of fire had just released itself, a single arrow had speeded straight into its mouth, and the fire that was supposed to have been released instead exploded inside its mouth, releasing only a smaller ball to hit and burn the center where the three were before they evaded. It made a sort of choking sound as it gulped down its own fire and it glided towards the ground on a collision course. Once again, they each evaded the incoming dragon, and it touched down violently, its scaly skin dragging along the ground, leaving a large trail of shaken dirt.

The Dragonborn looked up at it, lifting himself up slowly, sword drawn. He then turned back to see the one who was already on her feet, the one who took the shot. With the bow in her hand, Jenassa held a stern look, keeping her eye on the dragon. In that situation, an arrow made of steel and wood would've normally disintegrated in a dragon's flame, but it took a very well timed shot to actually make it in, one that only she could do.

They all approached the downed dragon with caution, noticing its body still rising in inhales and exhales, but it seemed like it was asphyxiating. They could hear it in its breath as well. The face area, especially coming out of its mouth, was steaming from the botched fire shout that the arrow caused. The four got on either side of it, getting in close and looking at its features more closely. The Dragonborn knelt down near its face, it being arched to the one side where he stabbed out its eye.

"Alduin…zu'u lost funt…" As if it felt its presence, the dragon opened its one good eye, staring straight into the Dragonborn's two blue ones. "Dovahkiin…" it muttered painfully. "Hi aal lost viik zey…"

"Who are you?" The Dragonborn demanded. "Why is your kind returning?"

"Hi nis helt mii fah lingrah…"

"What are you planning?"

"Alduin fen jakah ok nuft…" The Dragonborn stopped his questions and only looked down at it, standing back up to his feet. "Nii los dez do pah joor…" the blonde Breton came up beside the Dragonborn.

"Lets finish it off and get this over with," she said as she was about to lift her long bladed sword, the dragon spoke one more sentence.

"A war is coming, Dovahkiin…" it said. "Dark days are ahead…" And with that, it dropped its head to the ground, shitting its eye for good. Now it was dead, but what worried him was what it told them of the future.

Suddenly its skin began to glow of sparks, a sizzling sound coming from it. More and more of its scales were engulfed by the bright light.

"Stand back," the Dragonborn said. With that, the three stood back and they watched as a windy gust had fallen over them and the light energy jumped off in a path towards the Dragonborn's body, the energy disappearing into him as he stood stiff. Once the supernatural event was over, the dragon had turned back into a skeleton, jaw hung completely open. There was no more threat in the area; Kynesgrove was saved, for now.

The Dragonborn sighed, dropping the sword to the ground and running a gauntlet through his neck length black hair.

"I'll be damned," the blonde Breton said. "You really are Dragonborn."

"Did you really have any doubt?" he replied, sitting himself down on the ground and wiping the ash off of his face, in where he noticed that part of his beard was lightly burnt and disintegrated. "At least I have a reason to shave now."

"I've never seen anything like it," Hadvar said, shocked. "Did you just…devour its soul?"

"I guess I did," the Dragonborn replied.

"That was incredible," Jenassa said, kneeling down next to him. He chuckled lightly.

"That wouldn't've happened if you hadn't made that shot," he said. "Let's not have another close call like that again." For a moment, they remained silent, until the Dragonborn stood up and faced the woman who brought him to this place. "I believe you owe me some answers."

"Right," she said. "You deserve that enough." She pointed to the other two. "You two, there's no backing out, you're part of this now." Hadvar and Jenassa approached to either side of Arminius, looking to the woman.

"Wasn't planning on it," Hadvar said, crossing his arms. The Dragonborn began to ask away.

"First of all, who are you?"

"My name is Delphine, I am a Blade, part of a knightly order that has been searching for people like you for centuries."

"A Blade?" The Dragonborn said, "Where have I heard of them before."

"They came from Akavir, and served as the Emperor's bodyguard," Jenassa answered. "That was until the White-Gold concordat disbanded them."

"Replacing them with the Penitus Oculatus," Hadvar added. Delphine nodded her head.

"You two seem to know your history," she said. "I'm also one of the last of the Blades. If the Thalmor were to find me, then all of our elite techniques and Akaviri influence will fade into the dust forever, including the ancient meaning of the existence of the blades."

"And what is that purpose?"

"A very long time ago, the Blades were dragonslayers, and we served the Dragonborn, who was to be the greatest dragonslayer of them all."

"That must be why they became the Emperor's bodyguard," Hadvar said. "The Cyrodiil and Septim dynasties were both Dragonborn."

"But my father said the last Septim died two hundred years ago," the Dragonborn said. "If you were only disbanded in the White-Gold concordat, what were you doing guarding the Mede Dynasty?"

"We continued to serve the Empire for it was still a shadow of the Septim legacy," Delphine said. "And through that time we have been searching for a purpose, and the next Dragonborn. Now here you are, and we just killed a dragon that returned from the dead; our purpose is clear again…we need to stop them."

"Since you're obviously the expert here," he said. "What do you know about the dragons returning?"

"Not a damn thing," she replied. "I was just as surprised to see that big black dragon back there." The big black dragon…now that the Dragonborn was remembering its face, it was all too familiar.

"Wait a minute…" he whispered, and then turned to Hadvar. "Hadvar, did that black dragon seem familiar to you?"

"I'm not sure, Arminius," he replied. "What are you saying?"

"I think that was the same dragon that attacked us in Helgen."

"Was it?" Hadvar said, "But why did it?"

"Maybe it knew you were Dragonborn," Jenassa said.

"Dammit," Delphine interrupted abruptly. "We're blundering around in the dark here while that thing is out there flying about! We need to find out who is behind it all."

"Who is, or what is," the Dragonborn added. "Right, what happens next?"

"Everything relies on you now, the continuity of the Blades, the continuity of life as we know it," she said. "In order to find strength within yourself to fight a dragon on your own, you must know the art of the Dragon slayers from Akavir."

"You mean…you want me to become a Blade?"

"Precisely," Delphine nodded. "I'm the last one on Tamriel to hold the elite combat style of the Akaviri; what if I was to die tomorrow? The centuries of culture and style will be wiped away completely, unless this knowledge is passed on to others."

"What about us?" Hadvar said, mentioning him and Jenassa.

"You two will be part of this crusade, no doubt about that," Delphine replied. "But to be taught the ways of the Akaviri Blades is something I believe should be passed on to the Dragonborn first."

"Delphine, I'm honored that you're burdening me with the survival of the Blades and their ways, as though being burdened with the protection of Tamriel wasn't enough, but…" he scoffed. "I already know swordsmanship."

"You know how to simply stab and slice from Legion soldier training," Delphine said flatly. "Legionaries were not dragonslayers. The Blades have a unique style of fighting that hails from Akavir and takes several years of training and meditation to master, and we were dragonslayers once."

"Fair enough," the Dragonborn said, lifting his arms. "But how do we know we'll even have the time to train for years with these dragons about?"

"You can learn them fast," Delphine stepped closer to him. "You're intelligent, Arminius; back there, after only one battle, you were able to devise a plan to take this thing down with just the four of us, and it worked. Based on what I've heard about you, you seem to be very good with the blade in general, I'm sure learning to wield a Katana properly would be nothing more than an old experience to you."

"Alright," he said. "I'm convinced, when will I start my training?"

"Not quite yet," she said. "It seems we have some unfinished business to do. How about you go and get that horn back to the Greybeards while I head back to Riverwood to come up with our next move?"

"Sounds like a plan," he replied. Delphine held out her arm to him and they engaged in a shake.

"I'll see you there, be safe, and may Talos guide you," she said. The Dragonborn nodded, but his heart had heated up and its beat paced faster. Talos? He's heard of that name before. Hadvar said it to him once back in the war; it was apparently the heretical Ninth Divine.

In the war that he fought in, a huge factor of the Stormcloaks involved the concept of religious freedom to worship Talos, one that was banned by the Empire forcefully at the end of the Great War. Despite the Legion fighting to conserve the established order, ironically enough, a lot of Legion troops, especially in the fourth legion, had a strong belief in Talos, probably because half the soldiers in that legion were Nordic. They just rather had a strong sense of loyalty to the Empire, in which surprisingly they didn't abandon.

But Delphine wasn't a Nord, she was a Breton. Was it because she was a Blade? This question of religious preference would stick with the Dragonborn as he begins to question what he believes, since he never cared much for the Divines to begin with.


End file.
